


The Chosen <strike>One</strike> Ron

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Comedy, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-06
Updated: 2006-09-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 15:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Anything Goes Challenge.  Ron discovers Harry playing with what appears to be a Ron doll.





	The Chosen One Ron

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

**The** **Chosen** **One Ron** **By Matilda Bishop** **Anything Goes Challenge** **Challenge:  Ron discovers Harry playing with what appears to be a Ron doll.**  

_Ron or Ginny?_

_Ginny or Ron?_   

Harry knew now he’d made the wrong choice.  It had taken a while to figure it out but he’d finally gotten there.  He had known it sickened him, when Ron and Lavender were still dating, to watch them go at each other in the common room, but he hadn’t known why.  _Is it Lavender’s simpering?_ he’d wondered.  _Or is it because Hermione has a thing for Ron?_   Then one evening, as he was rolling around with Ginny under the Quidditch stands, it hit him—the light-bulb, the eureka, the big _ah-ha_.  Ginny’s blouse was unbuttoned, her bra hanging by a strap and still Harry’s mind was wandering.  He was thinking that kissing Ginny was a lot like kissing his sister.

 

When he’d really much rather be kissing his brother.

 

He made the mistake of telling Ginny.  About the kissing his sister part.  He was smart enough to pass over that he finally figured out why he liked walking up the stairs behind Ron, just a few steps behind, so his eyes were on an even level with Ron’s muscular arse.  

 

As Ginny stomped off, her red hair whipping, Harry was willing to believe he deserved both the bat-bogey and the jelly legs.  But he thought it a bit cruel of Ginny to whirl at the last moment and scream “eat slugs!”  Did she know how hard it was to breathe _and_ vomit slugs while thousands of gooey little bats poured from your nostrils?

 

As Harry left the hospital wing with the occasional winged bogey flapping from his nose, he felt optimistic.  If he could survive duels with Voldemort, basilisk fangs, Hungarian horntails, living with the Dursleys and being hugged by Hagrid, surely he could survive telling his best mate that he was in love with him.  And since Ron had broken up with Lavender a month ago and was still a single man, Harry reckoned he’d been wrong about Hermione.  _She just likes him as a friend,_ he decided, determinedly.  _That means Ron is fair game._   

As he made for the short-cut hidden behind the tapestry of the fornicating unicorns, Harry wondered, _should I tell him first…or just grab him and snog him senseless?_   Harry grinned.  The idea of jumping Ron and wrestling him to the bed was, well, stimulating.  He adjusted his jeans.  _That’s what I’ll do,_ he decided.  _As soon as I’ve washed the taste of slug from my mouth._   He brushed aside the tapestry and skidded to a halt, his grin fading.  

 

There, behind the tapestry, tucked into a corner and half-hidden in shadows, were Ron and Hermione.  They were locked in a vertical wrestling match, their lips glued together.

 

Hermione, Harry noticed, was all hands.

 

* * *

  _“Meet The_ _Chosen_ _One, mate!” Fred crowed to Harry at a corner table in The Three Broomsticks._

_“He’s brilliant!” exclaimed George happily._

_Harry stared in disbelief at the little doll in his hands.  It looked terribly familiar.  Spiky black hair.  Thin face.  Green eyes.  Rolled up jeans and a jumper with an H on it.  And yup, little red zigzag on the forehead.  “What the fuck?” asked Harry.  He had a very bad feeling._

_“It’s you, mate!” said Fred.  “ The_ _Chosen_ _One.  Our prototype.”_

_“This little baby is going to fly off the shelves,” said George.  “Watch this.”  He prodded the doll._

_The black-haired doll lifted a tiny wand.  “Hey Death Eater,” it squeaked.  “I’m gonna kick your Dark Lord’s arse.”_

_“Just the optimistic message people need in these dark times,” said Fred grinning brightly._

_Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.  He laid the little doll on the table._

_It scowled and raised its wand threateningly.  “You wanna piece a me?” it demanded._

_Harry covered it with a napkin._

_Two hours and two bottles of Firewhiskey later, Harry had persuaded Fred and George to hand over The_ _Chosen_ _One and to swear on their mother never to make any kind of likeness of Harry Potter ever again.  In return all Fred and George had to do was owl and Harry would slip on his invisibility cloak and break into Snape’s stores to steal whatever was so rare, so exotic or so classified that even the enterprising twins couldn’t find it on the black market._

_“Excellent,” burped Fred.  He beamed as he kissed Harry’s cheek sloppily.  “You’re an all right mate, Harry, old boy.  A bloody good bloke.”_

_“Too right.” George sprayed spittle as he snuggled up to Harry’s other side.  “Bloody good mate.”  He handed Harry The_ _Chosen_ _One, tickling it gently under the chin.  “Good-bye, baby,” he cooed, slurring thickly.  “We’ll miss you.”_

_“Make my day,” said the doll, twitching in Harry’s hand._   

* * *

 

Harry apologized to Ron and Hermione and picked the bogey that had been startled from his nose from Hermione’s hair.  Then he snapped the tapestry back in place and bolted back to the common room and up the stairs to his dorm.  Glad to find the room empty, he flung himself dispiritedly on his bed.  For a long time he lay with his arms behind his head staring up at nothing at all.  Finally he sighed and sat up.  “Thank heavens Fred and George gave me that little doll,” he muttered to himself.  Rising from the bed, he went to his trunk to fetch The Chosen One.

 

* * *

  _Tired of watching Ron and Lavender slobber and grope in the common room, Harry kicked open the portrait hole and climbed out._

_“Hey!” shouted an angry voice.  Harry turned in surprise._

_The Fat Lady was staring furiously at him._ _“What are you after,” she asked shrilly. “Kicking me in the bum!  You can’t do that…I’m a lady—”_

_“It wasn’t me,” interrupted Harry.  He was in no mood to argue with a portrait.   “I just happened to be leaving when it happened.”_

_“Well, then, who was it?” demanded the Fat Lady.  “They’ll hear it from me, all right!  Set Peeves on ’em, I will.  Make ’em think twice about treating a lady so roughly!”_

_“It was Ron Weasley,” said Harry, not feeling the least bit sorry.  “Or maybe Lavender Brown.  It was kind of hard to tell what foot belonged to whom.”_

_“Oh, I know what you mean,” said the Fat Lady, nodding her head.  “Those two, eh?  Always in a tangle.  They’ve put on a show or two in the hall, they have. I’ve had to tell them to break it up, myself.”_

_Harry was already trudging away.  With no destination in mind, he wandered the halls aimlessly, trying to come to terms with the strange feelings twisting his gut.  Why did watching Ron and Lavender make him want to heave?  Why did it make him want to shake Ron until his teeth rattled?  Suddenly he heard a familiar voice, a muffled curse coming from an empty classroom._

_“Hermione?”  He stuck his head in the classroom._

_Hermione looked up startled, shoving something in her hands into her book bag and out of site._

_“Oh, it’s you, Harry…come on in.”_

_Harry ambled in, his hands in his pocket.  “What are you doing?” he asked, curious._

_“If you must know,” said Hermione haughtily.  “I’m indulging in a little therapeutic arts and crafts.”_

_“Want some company?” asked Harry morosely.  “I could do with a bit of therapy myself.”_

_“Why?”  Hermione looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”_

_“Aw nothing,” muttered Harry.  “I’ve just been watching the Won-Won and Lavender show.  They’ve all but consummated their passion in a room full of gawking first and second years and I’m sick to death.  You know, Hermione,” he added sadly.  “I dunno why it bothers me…Ron and Lavender.  I just kinda feel ill…like I lost my best friend.”_

_“Well, then,” said Hermione, suddenly all business.  “Let’s get to work, shall we?”  She reached into her bag and pulled out something.  To Harry’s great surprise it was a little doll.  Why is everyone making dolls? he wondered.  Hermione’s doll was tall and thin, with big boobs and long blond hair._

_“Hermione,” he asked.  “What are you up to?”_

_Hermione pointed her wand at the doll and smiled grimly at Harry.  “Have you ever heard of voodoo dolls, Harry?”_

_Harry watched Hermione for a long time as she worked on the doll.  She concentrated with her usual intensity, using a **replicatius brownus** charm to make the face look scarily like Lavender’s and a **mammary minimus** to shrink the bosom to more recognizably human proportions.  She wound something thin and light-colored about the doll’s wrist._

_“What’s that?” Harry asked._

_“A hair,” said Hermione, frowning in concentration.  “From the head of Miss Lavender Brown.”_

_Harry got it then.  He watched as Hermione pointed her wand.  He watched as the doll walked across the table—and straight into a trip jinx.  He watched Hermione’s mouth curve into a smile as she said “ **furnunculus,”** then “ **tarantallegra**.” He watched her **desaugeo** the doll with a bitter little twist to her mouth.  But when she muttered “ **incendio** ,” Harry grabbed her wand arm.  The curse went wide and a nearby waste-basket burst into flames._

_“Hermione!” Harry cried.  “A little rough, aren’t you?”_

_“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione with a laugh.  “I said I was indulging in therapy…not trying to get sent to Azkaban!  I was just blowing off a little steam.  And I do feel much better.”  Suddenly she frowned.  “You didn’t really think I was hurting Lavender, did you?”_

_“Well, yeah,” admitted Harry._

_Hermione looked appalled.  “You thought I was giving her boils and making her teeth grow and you didn’t stop me!” she cried_

_“Well, I did stop you from setting her on fire,” Harry returned hotly.  He was flushing._

_“And please don’t tell me you believe in voodoo!” Hermione was disgusted now.  “Voodoo is rubbish.  You might as well book a Crumple-Horned Snorkack sight-seeing trip!  Besides, this isn’t even a wizard doll.  It’s an old Barbie doll I had when I was a kid.  Honestly, Harry!”_

_Harry never saw Hermione’s doll again but within the month Ron and Lavender had gone their separate ways.  “I couldn’t kiss her anymore,” Ron told Harry in confidence.  “She developed this really hideous halitosis.  She seemed to be having weird stomach problems as well.  Hey, do you know what’s gotten to the Fat Lady lately?  She’s been a right bitch.”_   

* * *

 

Harry returned to his bed, The Chosen One in his hand.  Only The Chosen One no longer remotely resembled The Chosen One.  Using Hermione’s techniques, Harry had modified it radically.  Now, not only was the doll taller and broader, it had blue eyes and a bright mop of red hair.  Its hands and feet were bigger.  And the face—Harry had worked a long time on that.  The scar was gone, the nose was longer, the skin was paler and freckled; the lips were full, like tiny pink pillows.  

 

Harry closed his curtains and sealed them.  He sat crossed-legged and turned the doll in his hands.

 

“You wanna piece a me?” asked the doll, hacking the air with its tiny wand.

 

“I wanna piece of Ron,” Harry answered mournfully.

 

He stared at the doll a while longer.  Finally he sighed and carefully stripped off the maroon sweater with its stitched R.  He slipped off the doll’s worn trainers and peeled the tight jeans from the legs.  Then he began his final modification—the freckling of the body.  He concentrated hard, drawing on memory to duplicate the pattern of dark freckles on Ron’s shoulders and arms, before moving to the chest, where the freckles were lighter and sparser.  It wasn’t until he turned the doll around to freckle its back that he noticed he had a raging hard-on.  “Oh fuck me,” he groaned, looking first at the doll’s naked back and buttocks, then at his bulging jeans.

 

“You wanna piece a me?” asked the doll.

 

“You’ll do,” sighed Harry.

 

* *  *

 

Ron wondered if something wrong was with him.  Out of the blue, for seemingly no reason at all, he’d get so turned on he could hardly stand it.  He’d be in the common room talking to Seamus—to Neville, for crying out loud—when suddenly he’d feel a flush come over his body.  His nipples would stiffen into mortifying erectness and his trousers would tent so obviously he’d have to put his book bag on his lap.  Sometimes he’d feel a tickle in the crook of his neck or between his shoulder blades, along the cheeks of his arse.  Then an erotic fever would sweep through his body, crissing and crossing over his nipples, his belly, his cock, his anus until he was choking back moans.  One particularly embarrassing episode had taken him in Potions, right under Snape’s hooked nose. Ron had been thankful Harry was sick that day.  There would have been no way his mate could have missed his flushing and squirming.

 

It had started shortly after he and Hermione had gotten together and now he had to admit it was messing with the progress of their relationship.  Sometimes he’d be with her and he’d be so overcome with horniness that he had to bolt to the nearest bathroom for a quick wank.  Other times he kiss her and be totally uninspired.  Hermione was too sharp not to notice.

 

“Ron,” she finally said one night in the common room.  “Do you like me or not?  I feel like I’m dating Jekyll and Hyde.  Sometime you seem enthused and other times you’re all but checking your watch.”

 

“Hermione, it’s not you,” Ron assured her.  He shifted uncomfortably.  “It’s me.  There’s something wrong with me.”  He’d been about to blurt the truth when Hermione jumped furiously to her feet.

 

“Oh please,” she huffed, gathering her books.  “Spare me the lame lines, Ron.  I’m not some brainless bird, you know.  At least have the guts to tell me the truth.”

 

She stormed off for the stairs to the girls’ dorms.  Ron could have stopped her but he didn’t. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ he wondered.  

 

* * *

 

Ron snored.  

 

Harry tossed and turned.  He tried flopping on his back, he’d tried curling on his side, he tried rolling to his belly.  He tried counting sheep and reciting the important battles and dates of the giant wars.  Nothing worked.  He couldn’t get comfortable and he couldn’t sleep.  He sighed.

 

Ron snorted in his sleep, muttered then fell silent.  

 

Harry glanced at his mate.  Even without his glasses he could see Ron was sleeping on his back, his arms crooked over his head, his legs open as far as the bed would allow.  Harry had been watching Ron sleep like that for five years.  Only recently had he noticed how fetchingly sluttish it was.  

 

Harry gave up on sleep.  He slid soundlessly from his bed and put on his glasses.  He went to his trunk to fetch The Chosen One, casting a silencing spell on it as he took it back to his bed.

 

The moonlight streamed into the window.  Harry laid the doll on his bed and positioned it just as Ron was sleeping, arms above its head, legs opened.  He glanced over at Ron again.  His mate had kicked away his covers and his too small pajamas rode up, exposing a patch of belly that looked satiny in the moonlight.  

 

“Bugger,” muttered Harry.  He plucked at the crotch of his pajamas and ran his hand over his own chest.  He pushed up his glasses.  Then he pushed up the doll’s shirt and stroked its belly.

 

The doll’s wand hacked the air and its tiny mouth moved silently.  The only sound was a faint mutter from the next bed.  Harry’s head jerked up.  He froze, watching.  It wouldn’t do to get caught.  Ron’s head moved on the pillow.  He murmured again.  Harry waited.  Ron sighed.  His mouth dropped open and he began to snore again.

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  He picked up the doll and turned it in his hands, thinking.  While he hardly wanted Ron to discover he had a Ron doll, the temptation to play with it while the real thing lay just a few feet away in a wanton fuck-me sprawl was too much.  Harry pulled his curtains half closed.  He himself was in shadows but he could see Ron from head to toe as he lay in his puddle of moonlight.  Harry carefully stripped the doll.

 

* * *   .

 

Ron was dreaming.  He was playing Quidditch; he was chaser this time, rocketing over bumpy pockets of air, the broom humming pleasantly between his legs.  The Quaffle curved up, soaring heavenward and Ron nosed his broom up, tearing after it.  Up and up they went until the pitch was a tiny square beneath him.  Ron flew on then, not caring where the broom took him.  The sky was dark around him, stars brilliant and the air was damp and warm.  His shirt fell open; it fluttered behind him.  The wind caressed his bare chest and he tipped his hips back and forth, rubbing himself against the broomstick.

  

* * *

 

Harry held the doll in the palm of his hand.  He blew on its chest and ran a gentle finger over its crotch.  He looked across at Ron.  Ron’s head tossed on the pillow; he murmured.  One leg moved restlessly.

 

Harry curled his fingers around The Chosen One, rubbing his thumb over the doll’s bare belly.

 

***

 

Something reached up into the sky and snatched Ron from his broomstick.  It was the Giant Squid and it wrapped him up in its tentacles from neck to ankles.  For a moment, Ron’s heart beat wildly and he struggled.  But then he noticed how gentle the Squid’s embrace was, how warm its many arms.  He was being held like he’d never been held before.  The tips of the Squid’s tentacles teased and tickled as they went here and there.  Ron realized he was naked, his cock hard and rubbing against the Squid’s smooth, soft flesh.  He whimpered.

 

* * *

 

Harry watched Ron stir on the bed.  The redhead’s hips shifted and tilted into the air.  A tiny moan escaped his throat.  Harry’s cock was stiff and poking from the top of his pajama bottoms.  His nipples were peaked and hard.  Watching Ron intently from behind his curtains, he raised the doll to his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Ron felt the Squid lift him higher.  He felt it gently attach its many cups to his skin.  Each cup was like a tiny mouth, sucking gently.  The cups were everywhere.  At his neck, his chest, his back, his arse, his cock, his legs and the soles of his feet.  Sucking softly, everywhere.  Relentlessly.  Ron quivered in the Squid’s embrace, moaning helplessly.

 

Suddenly the Squid’s grip loosened.  It rolled Ron from tentacle to tentacle, handing him down out of the sky, gently, carefully…down, down, down…and into the arms of his best friend.  Ron blinked.  How strange Harry looked.  He’d obviously just eaten a Ton Tongue Toffee; his tongue was huge and lolling.  After a moment, Ron realized Harry didn’t look strange at all.  He was perfectly lovely as he smiled around his huge tongue.  He held Ron close with strong arms.  Very strong arms.  Ron never knew his mate was so strong.  Harry’s long tongue curled around Ron, wrapping his whole body; its pointed tip slid over the crack of Ron’s arse.

 

* * *

 

Harry tongued at his doll.  Its limbs were so warm and pliable and its little body writhed in his hand.  It had flung back its tiny head and over in the next bed, Ron had flung back his head too.  Harry knew he should stop but he also knew there was no way he was going to stop, not while Ron was twisting like that, not while he was moaning and whimpering.  

 

The little doll rolled over in Harry’s hand, offering him its perfect little bum.  Harry hesitated, but he couldn’t resist.  The doll’s arse was round and firm, like a perfect pale cherry.  Harry licked at it; he slid his tongue between the doll’s legs.

 

* * *

 

Ton Tongue Toffee Harry held Ron tightly.  His long and supple tongue glided over Ron’s body.  It traveled down his spine and teased at the pucker of his arse.  Then it slid further between Ron’s legs.  It passed over Ron’s perineum, over his testicles and wrapped itself around his achingly hard cock.  The tongue was everywhere.  It scraped Ron’s arse and balls; it tickled his inner thighs.  It licked relentlessly at his erection.  He stiffened and bucked.  He came explosively.

 

* * *

 

With a cry, Ron sat up in bed.  He looked down at his lap in time to see the head of his cock, poking from his pajamas, shoot a stream of ejaculate onto his belly.  “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed.

 

“What’s the matter, Weasley?” came a sleepy voice.  “Have a wet dream?”

 

“Sod off,” said Ron.  He flopped back on his bed, still riding the waves of what had been the most intense orgasm of his life.  Intense but embarrassing.  He turned his head to see if he’d awakened his best friend.  His eyes widened in surprise.  Harry was awake all right.  He was staring right back at Ron.  He seemed to be frozen in shock.  His tongue was poking out and it was stuck to…stuck to… _something_.  

 

“Bloody hell!” cried Ron again, this time in disbelief.  He leapt out of bed and grabbed his wand.  “Bloody hell, Harry!  Did I just see what I thought I saw?”

 

“No,” said Harry, his face going red.  He ducked quickly behind his curtain, tucking something out of sight.

 

Ron’s own face blazed.  Seeming to forget about the wet mess on the front of his pajamas, he strode over to Harry’s bed and held out his hand.  “Give it up, mate,” he said loudly.

 

“Go away,” said Harry in a small voice.

 

“What the hell’s going on, you lot?” called a voice.

 

“SOD OFF, SEAMUS!” roared Ron.  He whirled in the direction of Seamus’s bed.  “This is none of your business.”

 

“Fine!” Seamus yelled back.  “If it’s none of my business, I’d just as soon not hear about it!  So shut your arsing face and let me sleep!”

 

Everyone one was awake now.  Neville and Dean were sitting up in their beds.  Neville’s eyes were as wide as saucers.  “What’s going on, Harry?” he asked.

 

“Nothing,” Harry said in a tight voice. 

 

Ron held out his hand to Harry again.  “Give it,” he ordered.

 

“No.” said Harry tersely.  “Go back to bed, Ron.”

 

“The hell,” roared Ron.  He flung himself at Harry before the smaller boy could react.  In a moment, he had Harry pinned belly down on the mattress.  Harry ooffed but otherwise kept silent.  He lay rigidly, holding his hands beneath his body.

 

“Harry?” Neville’s voice in the dark sounded alarmed.

 

“Oy,” cried Dean.  He sounded alarmed too.  “You lot aren’t fighting, are you?”

 

“Sod off,” snarled Ron.  “This is personal.”

 

“Harry?”  

 

Harry had the terrible feeling that timid Neville was gathering his courage to come to rescue.  _That will just make things worse,_ he thought.  “Neville,” he said, glad no one had lit a light and could see exactly what was going on in his half-curtained bed.  “I’m perfectly fine.”  He tried to sound as reassuring as he could with Ron’s heavy body pinning him down…with Ron’s fingers digging at his sides.  Ron was trying to get his hands under Harry’s body—to the thing Harry held in his own hands.  “And Dean,” Harry grunted, elbowing Ron.  “We’re not fighting.  We are having a discussion.  A civil discussion.”  He elbowed Ron again.  “We just have something to work out, right?  Personal, like Ron said.  We’re fine.  Go back to sleep.”

 

“I don’t know,” began Dean but his voice was cut off as Ron’s long arm shot out.  Ron snatched Harry’s curtains and jerked them shut, sealing them with an _imperturbable_.  Then, still lying full-length on Harry, he put his mouth next to Harry’s ear and growled, “You have something under you.  I want to see it.”

 

“No!” Harry snapped back.  He was furious and embarrassed.  “Now get off me, you big stupid git!”  

 

“Give it!” shouted Ron.

 

Then they were locked in a silent battle.  Harry struggled and kicked, trying to throw Ron off but with his hands beneath him there wasn’t much he could do.  He felt Ron’s hands working their way under his ribs.  In another moment, they had closed over his wrists.  The struggle became more violent then, fierce and dirty, with Harry trying to drive his head back into Ron’s face.  But he was at a distinct disadvantage.  It was only a matter of time.

 

“Got it,” said Ron tersely.  He sat up, straddling the small of Harry’s back.  Harry felt him grow very still.  There was a long silence.  

 

“It’s a doll,” Ron finally said.  

 

“Oh, is it?” Harry spat out.  He folded his arm and rested his chin on them.  He was furious at being found out and overpowered.  

 

“And it looks like me.”  Ron’s voice was faint.

 

“You think so?” said Harry curtly.  

 

“Yeah,” said Ron.  “I do.”  Harry felt him sag and fall to one side.  He lay beside Harry on his back.  Both boys were quiet.  After a while Ron spoke again.  “Don’t you think you’re a little old to play with dolls, mate?”

 

Harry, feeling his face burn in the dark, decided not to answer.

 

There was another long silence.  Finally Ron spoke again.  Well,” he said heaving a giant sigh.  “This certainly explains a few things.”

 

“Is that so?” said Harry.  He was still on his stomach with his arms folded.  His anger was ebbing a bit and he was beginning to feel ashamed.  

 

“Yeah,” said Ron.  He held the little doll above him, turning it thoughtfully in his hands.  “It explains the sudden hard-ons while I’m talking to McGonagall.  It explains wank sessions when I shoot before I can even touch my cock.  It explains the time my hands got stuck like this—” Ron crossed his wrists in the air, the doll dangling from one hand.  “My wrists were absolutely fastened to each other and I couldn’t pull them apart no matter how hard I tried.”  He mimed trying to twist his wrists apart.  “Hermione got angry,” he went on.  “Thought I was faking…trying to get out of doing homework.”

 

“Sorry,” said Harry.  He sighed and was silent.  Finally he admitted sheepishly. “I tied you up…rather, I tied the doll’s wrists together.  With a rubber band.”

 

“A rubber band?” Ron’s voice sounded puzzled.  Harry didn’t know if it was because his mate didn’t know what rubber bands were or if he didn’t understand why one person might like to tie another up.  “The doll seemed to enjoy it,” he said lamely.

 

Ron sighed.  He let the doll, still clasped in his hands, fall to his midriff.  “You’ve been playing with me, Potter,” he said.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Harry.  What else could he say?

 

“You’re sorry?” said Ron incredulously.  He sat up, staring at Harry.

 

“Yeah…well, see…I’m sorry.”  Harry sat up and held up his hands in defense.  He had no idea what to say.  “It’s…erm…Hermione said voodoo dolls don’t work—”

 

“Hermione knows about this!” Ron looked horrified.

 

“No, no, she doesn’t…erm, she knows about voodoo dolls…but she doesn’t know about _this_ one.  I mean _I_ didn’t know about this one.  She said they didn’t work.  I…erm…Shit!”  Harry fell miserably back on his bed, wondering if he were about to lose his best friend.  “I’m sorry, mate,” he sighed.  “I really am.”

 

“You’re sorry,” Ron repeated.  He fell back on the bed too.  He still had the doll in his hands.  He stared unseeing up at the bed’s canopy.

 

They were silent so long Harry thought they might lay there forever, side by side with a little naked red-headed doll for company.  He wondered what Neville, Dean and Seamus were doing on the other side of the curtains.  Whether they’d fallen back to sleep or if they were even now fetching McGonagall.  He wondered, as the silence grew and grew, if Ron would ever speak to him again.  His face was hot, his stomach was cold and his heart was thumping madly.  Finally he couldn’t stand it any more.  “So,” he asked tentatively.  “What are you going to do?” 

 

“WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?” yelled Ron.  He sat up, his face turning purple.  Harry sat up too, startled.  He bumped off the _imperturbably_ sealed curtains.

 

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH, POTTER?” Ron bellowed.  “DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO GET A STIFFY WHILE YOU’RE LOOKING AT SNAPE?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO _MISS A SAVE_ BECAUSE YOU’VE SUDDENLY MESSED THE FRONT OF YOUR QUIDDITCH ROBES?  DO YOU WHAT IT’S LIKE TO SPEND HOURS IN THE LIBRARY RESEARCHING PRIAPUS CURSES?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE TO SPRINT TO MOANING MYRTLE’S TOILET BECAUSE YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO TOSS?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE TO TOSS WITH MYRTLE TRYING TO HAVE A LOOK?  DO YOU?  DO YOU?”

 

“Erm, no,” said Harry leaning as far as way from Ron as he could.

 

“WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?  I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I’M GOING TO DO, POTTER!”  Ron rose to his knees and put his face right in Harry’s.  “You put me through hell, Harry.”  His voice fell dangerously.  “Now—”  He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shoved him backwards onto the bed.  “It’s your turn.  You’re going to get a bit of the hell you’ve been giving me.”  

 

Harry saw the little doll fall to his pillow as Ron fell on top of him.  Holding himself up by the arms, Ron ground his groin into Harry’s.  Harry groaned.  They were both hard.  

 

“Ron,” gasped Harry, feeling his back arch.  “I’m really sorry.”

 

“Hell, Potter,” growled Ron, pinching Harry’s nipple.  “Hell.”  He ripped open Harry’s pajama top, sending the buttons pinging off the wall, off the curtains.  He ducked his head, licking savagely at Harry’s nipples, bringing them to stiff sensitive peaks.  “Hell,” he muttered again, sliding down Harry’s body and jerking Harry’s bottoms down to his knees.

 

_So this is hell,_ thought Harry vaguely as Ron’s hot mouth closed over the head of his aching cock.  _Not nearly as bad as people make it out to be._   He groaned helplessly as Ron sucked at his sensitive skin, teased with a swirling tongue.  He felt his hips lift from the bed as Ron swallowed the rest of his cock, letting his teeth scrape lightly at the underside.  Suddenly a thought occurred to Harry.  He pulled at Ron’s hair.  “What about Hermione?” he managed to gasp.

 

Ron released Harry’s cock long enough to answer.  “Broke up with me last night.  Said I was acting too weird.  Said she just wanted to be friends.”

 “Oh,” said Harry.  Then he had one final thought as Ron sucked him down again, his big hands cupping and squeezing Harry’s arse, as he pushed Harry’s cock deeper into his mouth.  _Ron’s right,_ he thought hazily as he gave himself up to Ron’s talented, darting tongue.  _I **am** too big to play with dolls._   


End file.
